


like that you're broken (broken like me)

by sparkleeye



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Bisexual Steve Harrington, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fem!Harringrove, Fingering, Gay Billy Hargrove, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Internalized Homophobia, Masturbation, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-20 05:17:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15526872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkleeye/pseuds/sparkleeye
Summary: stef tries very avidly to not devote too much time thinking about billie hargrove.meanwhile - billie's new favorite hobby was effortlessly getting stef harrington all wound up.[title taken from lovelytheband's "broken"]





	1. a feeling that you can’t fight

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i return! i've got other fics underway at the moment but my confidence in and with them wavers constantly so god only knows when i'll have them done. they all have proper grammar too (i know, it's hard to believe) and this wee series is only lowercase like my older pieces because it _started_ as a drabble. 
> 
> my actual fics have Proper Grammar now while drabbles, headcanon posts -- still lowercase. so apologies for this being formatted this way, it just got too long and i didn't feel like fixing the capitalization after i typed it all out. whoops.
> 
> lastly -- i wanted to briefly thank hoppnhorn and 221bfakerstreet - along with a few other people - for slowly getting fem!harringrove stuck in my head. bless y'all.

stef tries very avidly to not devote too much time thinking about billie hargrove.

it’s something that’s become progressively harder as the months have passed, increasingly more difficult as she watched billie put miles between them after  _ that _ fight, always dejected and guilty looking, pouting like a kicked puppy dog and withholding any contact, and then tried to bridge that gap, traipsing over to her on the daily like they were just old friends rekindling, as if their relationship wasn’t always a sour thing.

like bitter tasting words and throbbing smacks  _ weren’t _ the only things they’d exchanged since billie had come roaring into town in that dusty blue sports car.

and what stef really can’t shake is the way billie is seemingly always being within an arm’s reach, her presence eternally signaled by wafting cigarette smoke and hairspray and jovan musk, all spice and smoke and saccharine chemical sweetness.

before, catching a whiff of her perfume - no, it has to be the cologne, because billie’s too  _ cool _ for perfume - on the wind was a warning signal.  _ get out, run, haul ass _ . now it was an invitation to see just what billie had in store that day – a quick insult mocking her choice of dress or jabbing at her family’s societal ranking, twisting a short brown curl around one calloused finger and watching it spring back and calling her  _ pretty  _ or  _ princess _ , whatever. 

whatever billie had to offer, stef found herself hungrily taking.

and that was fucking scary.

but still, she anticipates all of billie’s moves, tries to catch her leaving her locker, books in hand, or exiting the locker room after phys ed, curls damp and smelling like flowery soap. she wants to watch billie wrangle her mess of volumized brown and gold curls, lick a thumb and try to tame with her thick brows, flick some mascara on her mile long lashes. she’s starving for it, to catch billie unawares, guard temporarily crumbled. vulnerable, open,  _ soft. _

like clockwork she’s transfixed with the way billie blindly elbows tommy in the stomach when he’s being a dick or how she clicks her tongue and winks at the other senior boys that wolf-whistle at her ass in those jeans. the way she chews on her pencils in class and fills in the spaces of her notes with graphite scribblings. the way she scowls and laps at the ‘v’ space her pointer and middle finger make when girls whisper poisonous things about her behind her back.

stef thinks about that one thing in particular a lot more than anything else. at least  _ now _ she does. catches her breath in her throat and leaves it there while she attempts not to think about the broad stripes billie licks out into the air, and how they’d feel pressed against her heat.

it doesn’t help that something carol had whispered -  _ she’s probably a carpet muncher, y’know, a dyke… and like yeah, she’s hot, and all these guys wanna bang her, but i bet she’s totally into pussy -  _ echoes in her mind whenever she catches billie licking at her lips or picking at her cuticles or sucking down tobacco and nicotine like she was born with a cig in her mouth.

it’s just gotten worse with time. she really does try to not think about it.

like how she tries not think about the way billie’s warm, rough hand rest directly on the bare patch of skin that lay exposed at the very bottom of her skirt, yesterday at lunch. tries not to think of the wicked slide of her pink tongue over chapstick-soft lips as she lapped up some stray droplets of apple juice, after taking a gargantuan bite out of her apple.

tries not to think of the tickle of her fingertips skating down her thigh, over her knee, as she bid her, nate and joan adieu and went to rejoin carol and tommy h’s crowd three tables south.

and stef doesn’t think it was her imagination that billie looked bored out of her  _ mind _ sitting on martin mcallister’s dick in the back of his old station wagon, up until she walked by after school today. she’d only been there waiting to pick up lucas and dustin from a/v club anyway and decided that sitting in her car smoking was a better past time than waiting it out in the library, hopefully attempting to complete an english assignment without any assistance.

the three o’clock sun was in her eye one moment and billie was the next. and billie only got into fucking martin once their eyes locked. 

at first stef thought she was ready to get her ass handed to her and was going to have to pick up the boys with her nose purpled and bloody and mascara running, but then billie’s wide blue eyes hooded, pupils magnified, and she smirked, equally charming and wicked.

stef was entranced, cemented to the grimy asphalt as she watched billie in the backseat, her shirt unbuttoned and falling off her shoulders, something laced and dark blue peaking out from behind the fallen fabric, her sinfully red lips locked around a moan as one hand gripped onto the driver’s side headrest and she started to bounce with vigor.

and stef was a mere row away, a few cars over and luckily the parking lot was mostly empty,  _ and _ martin was laying down out of sight in the backseat, otherwise this would have been a hell of a lot less erotic and tenfold traumatizing.

but it wasn’t, and stef watched, enraptured, as billie gasped out dramatically, audible even through the cracked windows and clutched at the brown upholstery. the skin on her chest glistened with exertion, her cheeks flushed with arousal as she held stef’s gaze captive, working martin’s cock inside her expertly but only having eyes for stef the whole time.

eventually one of billie’s hands slipped down and stef’s breath hitched, groin pulsing under her flowing skirt, the fabric flying with each gust of wind and making her deftly aware of how wet she was getting. billie’s arm worked and stef knew, even out of sight, how aggressively she was probably working her clit, using martin’s latex-wrapped cock simply as a tool to get off.

and stef watched as billie came, her crooked, toned arm never stilling as her eyes pinched shut and she breathed out a  _ stevie _ against the greasy, finger-painted glass of the cracked window. as billie settled back away from the window, she brought her fingers up to taste and lapped around the visible wetness gathered on her fingertips, stormy ocean eyes still locked to stef’s as she cleaned them.

billie smirked devilishly as she rose off of martin’s lap, pulled her jeans and boots back on and clamored out of the passenger side before martin even sat up again. she licked her lips as she crossed in front of stef and whispered, barely audible, “love to give you a personal show, sometime.”

after that, it was even harder to not think about billie and her mouth and her snappy comebacks and the ‘v’ of her fingers.

but she didn’t have a damn problem with that. not anymore.


	2. claimed you so proud (so openly)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i apologize because this has become a goddamn Monster and i told myself if I spent time on a piece i'd capitalize it like a functioning human being that isn't lazy as all shit, so i apologize for the disconnect in formatting between the first chapter and this one -- it just... got very out of hand very quickly.

Billie's new favorite hobby was effortlessly getting Stef Harrington all wound up.

She liked getting her panties in a twist, more or less figuratively, getting her all rosy cheeked and huffy, rolling her eyes in exasperation and throwing her arms up in the air, impatient and incredulous, full of disbelief. All _are you fucking kidding me right now?_  

All of her playful, candy-coated pushing was done to prove a point. To prove that _maybe_ she’s redeemable after all, that Stef maybe didn’t want her to fucking rot til the end of time.

She really just wanted to be forgiven, especially after having choked out an apology with her heart in her throat and her hands shaking, her knees locked uncharacteristically. She wanted Stef to accept it eventually but knew "I’m sorry" alone wasn't going to cut it, so that's why she put space between them. Wanted to give her a breather before trying to move in properly, work her over to forgiveness and see if little _Stevie_ was open to being more than just, well, people that barely tolerated each other's presence and existence.

In all honestly, Billie had spent many nights tucked in bed, one hand silencing her gasps as the other trailed down the tan, toned plane of her stomach, over warm skin and into fever hot territory. She would close her eyes and picture each carefully encapsulated memory she'd accumulated of her favorite fallen queen bee -- her glossed pink lips and freckle-marled skin; the delicateness of her manicured nails and the contradicting crisscross of white scars over her knuckles; each coiffed chocolate brown lock that curled with length just under her ears; the contrast of her soft pastel sweaters and fitted skirts she wore to school versus the grimy blue jeans and ratty t-shirts she sported everywhere else.

 _Everything_ , every small, delicate detail of her appearance and quirks - pencil tapping, eye rolling, exasperated sighs - were meticulously catalogued for later admiration.

Billie would press her fingers over her heat, sometimes rub up against the scratchiness of her sheets or on top of a folded over pillow, and picture the constellations of freckles and moles that lined Stef's back, dreamed that that the patterns were mirrored on the perky roundness of her breasts, a perfect handful each. How her nipples are probably _peachy pink_ and would go from soft and puffy and to taut, wrinkled up under her teeth after a few nips and tugs, and taste rosy and creamy like her body lotion.

How she'd taste at the core, _fuck_ , just as sweet as everything else about her, dripping like a bruised plum. Billie ached to spend hours between Stef's soft, pale thighs, sucking red and pink bands over each freckle and burying her tongue inside until her chin ran wet with sticky arousal.

Many nights she'd spent laying in the darkness with her underwear shoved to her knees, her breath growing ragged as her stomach coiled tighter and tighter with pleasure until she released on a shaky sigh as her bones jellied, always thinking about Stef, about _Stevie_.

And Billie always thought it’d be a fantasy, something her heart would ache and break for.

But it wasn’t just the wonderland that lay beneath Saks Fifth Avenue sweaters and muddied, ripped jeans, oh no -- she wanted each smile and flushed cheek and thoughtful stare to be shot in _her_ direction. Longed to come up behind Stef in the hallway and pinch the skin that lay just under her skirt and make her squeak, then nuzzle into her jaw and keep one arm drawn around her shoulders.

Give Stef wear her favorite denim jacket, sip off the same straw while sharing strawberry shakes down at the diner, _hell_ , even let herself get wrangled into watching horror movies with the _brats_ together on Friday nights. Just anything _with Stef_ tacked onto the end.

And Billie wasn’t the _head over heels_ type. In California she tucked her head under skirts and playfully tweaked nipples and left while the girl raggedly tried to catch her breath, too afraid of being caught to devote time to catching feelings - even though it _did_ happen, caught her off guard and knocked her off her damn feet, and ultimately got her shipped out to fucking _hillbilly_ country - and in Hawkins she half-heartedly sucked and rode cock strictly to keep up appearances.

She kept her heart wrapped up, hid it behind toothy sneers and toxic jabs and battered knuckles, and covered up her homegrown bruises and scars with fairy tales about bar fights and underground boxing practice two towns over.

And just by her own dumb luck, by playing with fire like always, it turned out _fantasy_ wasn’t quite the word she’d always be using to describe stef. 

After making herself come on Martin Mcallister’s cock in the backseat of his ashy smelling station wagon a week previous - and _only_ able to do so because Stef was there watching owlishly the whole time - she only figured little Stef wasn’t as  _straight-laced_ as she’d previously figured.

The smug, cocky invitation of a _private show_ had revealed more than she thought it had - as much of a leap as it was to place the invitation in the first place, and terrifying honestly if she were rejected and outed - and that’s how she got to where she is now two days later, parked at the quarry after dark on a clear Wednesday night.

They’re sharing fries and shakes _and_ joint and it’s surprisingly nice out, a breeze swaying the branches of the trees above now and again, no rhythm to follow. They’ve got the windows down and the radio is buzzing softly and playing something Billie recognizes as an old Kate Bush song.

And they might have kissed a few times, and Stef _might_ have initiated the first one and Billie _might_ have gotten a little thrown off by it, fear spiking out of fucking _nowhere_ that she might just be used to experiment with, forgotten by the next morning when they sat next to each other in history class, only to later be mocked openly about her secret _preferences_. 

But Stef was careful, had soothed her with one hand on a denim-clad thigh, electricity running under her touch, told her, “hey, I wouldn’t have come out here if I wasn’t, y’know, _interested_ ,” and, “don’t think I came out here to just _fuck around_ , like if I wanted to I would’ve said something _Monday_ and wouldn’t have showed up with dinner _and_ my best weed.” 

More than a little incredulous, Billie had asked, “you call me out here on a _date_ , Harrington?”

And her heart was in her fucking _throat_ again, felt warm all over even with her jacket shrugged onto the floor --

“I mean, yeah?”

And then Stef looked down at the floor all _embarrassed_ and fucking _adorable_ and after a beat, Billie let a smile spread across her face and took Stef’s chin in hand a little shakily, tilted her jaw up and slotted their lips together, easy as pie.

So yeah, _might have kissed_.

The kisses had started chaste, just overlapping nips and soft slides of their lips. But now each slip has them gasping, sighing into each other’s mouths and Stef keeps beaming between kisses and laughing against her mouth.

It’s like sunshine, really, even safely tucked away in the dark backseat. It might be the weed making her giggly but Billie hopes, internally prays it’s the endorphins, that she _likes_ kissing her. Stef thumbs at her earring, letting the spike roll between the pads of her fingers. In turn Billie lets out a quiet laugh, more a rush of air against Stef’s cheek as she pulls back, pressing Stef up against one door with one leg pressed between hers and holding her chin like she’s porcelain.

And with each tug of Stef’s teeth on her bottom lip, she gets a stronger taste of the tangy, smoky hash and the artificial cherry flavor of her chapstick.  

They stay like that for awhile, pressed flush under the blue-black sky. Stef has her fingers tangled in Billie’s mess of curls and at her folded over collar and Billie is positive she’s died somewhere along the way and that _this_ , Stef’s red door perfume in her nose and long, painted nails scratching her scalp, her clever tongue lapping behind her teeth, is _heaven_.

“Hey, wanna try something,” she mutters, and Stef nods but still follows her lips as she hesitantly pulls back, “if, if you _want_ me to.”

Stef nods again, all doe-eyed and eager, and Billie presses another kiss to her mouth for good luck, and starts to slide down the seats so her chin rests low on her stomach.  

"C'mon _Stevie,_ " Billie says, and Stef narrows her eyes but definitely goes a little more pink in the cheeks, "sit back for me."

And thank _god_ there's some elbow room in the back of the Beamer, because there's no way they would be able to do this in the back of the Camaro.

Obeying, Stef lays back against the door and situates herself upwards like that, peering down at Billie as she settles between her legs, on her knees as if she's bent over in prayer. Today Stef’s skirt is long and stiff, a fitted tartan thing, and her blouse drowns out the roundness of her tits, but it's a damn good look and Billie can appreciate that -- she just wants to pull back the wrappings and enjoy the real present.

Billie starts to play at the tucked-in fabric of her blouse and Stef gets the message - _clever girl_ \- and pulls it off a little clumsily, hasty in desperation. Billie relishes the pale expanse of skin in front of her, Stef’s baby pink bra with the lace trim and little bow nestled between her tits, the weight of her chest cupped up and delicately pinched together.

She was right, too -- the smattering of freckles and moles painting her chest and stomach are a near mirror image to the patterns marking her back.

“ _Holy shit_.”

Stef laughs breathily in response.

Billie starts working, doing what she hasn’t had the freedom or security to do in ages, but taking so much more care than she ever has before. She starts at Stef’s neck, starts with gentle sucks and open-mouthed kisses, and then scrapes her teeth over her collarbone. Her chest is warm, dappled with splotchy patches of arousal, and Billie rakes darker stripes over them with each toothy graze.

As she slowly moves down Stef’s abdomen, relishing her soft, warm skin and each small flicked scar, each wayward mole, Stef’s starts pushing at her shoulders, urging her _down down down_. Stef’s breaths have grown slightly more ragged with each dragging moment and Billie _figures_ she should be nice and get a move on.

Honestly she could do this for eons, savoring each inch of exposed skin, but she has a strong feeling that Stef will get whiny and pouty - _Princess Stevie_ and all - when she doesn’t get what she wants, and as adorable as it is in theory, well.

So heart hammering, Billie reaches around behind Stef and gently unhooks the clasp of her bra before letting the pink straps fall demurely of off her moonlit shoulders. She hesitates for a bit, gearing up for the reveal, but Stef beats her to the punch and shrugs her shoulders, gulping in air in equally heated anticipation, and the cups of her bra tumble the rest of the way down her arms.

Billie barely manages to swallow a pleased hum back as she tentatively raises her hands to trace at the sensitive underside of Stef's bare tits. Gently she thumbs along the weighty flesh, pressing into it gently as she moves up the mild dip of her cleavage, fingers dancing up the sides.

Stef gasps as her hand briefly evacuates and _oh_ \--

This, _this_ was what she missed so goddamn much.

This was a damn godsend in comparison to staring down at all those flat, carved chests while she rode cock in faux enjoyment. She'd take a face full, a handful or hell, a _mouthful_ of tit over a man's toned, muscled chest any day.  

The only semi-decent part about sex with guys was the sensation of being filled anyway.

Otherwise she would close her eyes and imagine pouting lips accompanied by smooth, unprickled jaws sucking toothy rings into her neck and chest while soft hands gripped her hips and fucked her expertly with careful fingers, or even something pleasantly artificial and phallic -- without being attached to a member of an entire _gender_ she felt very little, if any attraction to or for.  

Billie revels in Stef's sensitivity to her touch, feels the pride in her chest regrow and blossom outward. Caves to the arousal tingling in the pit of her stomach. 

"Sensitive, baby?" she coos, returning both of her hands to Stef's ribcage before letting her fingers trek north and trace the crease under her breasts.  

Stef nods wordlessly and watches under long lashes. There's something so dreamy about her bathed partially in the moonlight, near-panting and topless and tucked in the backseat of the car daddy dearest bought her, overcome with a newfound pleasure she probably never thought possible.

And not only is the gentle touching getting Stef's heart rate to rocket, but whenever Billie starts to open her mouth like she's going to talk, she feels even more furious pounding in Stef's chest.

 _Stevie_ likes to be talked to, _Christ_ , this is unbelievable. All bare chested and panting, she’s a fucking fantasy come to life.

Billie nearly pinches herself and prays this isn't yet _another_ wet dream.

Cupping Stef’s tits in both hands, she focuses her attention on a nipple and lets the velvety skin pebble under her careful pinches and pulls. She traces the circumference of it with one deft nail before moving to the other and repeats the motions. The flesh is mottled at the edges, more smudges than circles, more dusty than straight peach, a little more grey than pink even in the dark, but either way they're so goddamn _cute_.

"You like it when I touch you? Hm? When I pinch your nipples and they get all hard for me?"

"Fuck, yeah, yes, oh -- _Christ_!"

Predatory, she starts sucking on the raised skin with fervor and Stef's nails carve crescents into her shoulders through her shirt. She tugs the bud between her teeth and and Stef nearly kicks her in the knee in response, the back of her head hitting the inside of the door with a soft thump.

She just smirks, beyond pleased. “Careful Stevie.”

Billie keeps her hands on the weighty warmth of Stef’s tits as she continues to kiss down her abdomen. She can multitask easy --  teasing dusky pink nipples and sucking marks into a pale, soft stomach at the same time.

When she reaches the top of Stef’s skirt she looks up and raises her eyebrows in a silent question. Her fingers hesitate over the buttons but Stef nods in permission and tilts her head, flicks her bangs out of her face so she can see better. Each clasp gradually unsnaps from the fabric and Billie makes sure she drags it out nice and slow, further building up the anticipation as she undoes the zipper. She wants Stef on edge, wants her panting and flushed, desperate.

It’d be easier if she just hiked Stef’s skirt up, sure, but where was the fun in that? The world is on pause for them, all red lights and stop signs. They have eons together tucked away in Stef's roomy backseat.

Stef lets Billie tug the skirt off and she’s just sitting there in her socks and panties, half-bathed in milky moonlight and half in the darkness of the night sky. She’s a mess, Billie notes. From her sex flush and rosy cheeks to her loosened curls and laced pink number, she’s a mess of a masterpiece. All splashes of reds and pinks.

Billie drinks it down, just swallows it whole. She briefly dips up for another taste of Stef’s mouth and as slyly as possible, teasingly rubs her slit over her underwear. She’s already wet there, has started soaking through the the thin fabric.

Stef sighs against her lips and grips her arm tighter but Billie just goes slower and makes sure the fabric drags over her clit extra slow.

“Christ, you’re a _bitch_ ,” Stef says breathlessly, a little maniacal, “you _actually_ gonna get me off or are you just gonna play with my panties all night long?”

Billie laps at her fat bottom lip. “Patience is virtue, Stevie.”

“Shut _up_ and get to work, come on.”

 And Billie would be royally _pissed_ if anyone else talked to her that way, but Stef’s voice is teasing and breathy and, well, it’s _Stef_ talking to her, trying to nudge her south and get her mouth, fingers, _anything_ where she wants it. _Needs_ it.

“Tell me what you want first.”

Stef snorts, like actually _snorts_ and Billie grins but still waits for her answer, stops moving her fingers altogether and rests them on her thigh instead.

“Y’know, usually I’d take dinner and a movie _before_ I let someone put their fingers in me,” Stef smirks, “but if I'm honest, you’re cute, like really cute, so you get a free pass. Though I did think _I_ was getting a private show, I didn’t think I was gonna _be_ the private the show.”

Billie clicks her tongue playful. This was the _Q_ _ueen Stevie_ everyone must’ve been talking up when she rolled into town -- all cocky and smug, a little tease; the same girl that probably flashed her tits behind the grocery store to bag a good deal on hash and threw weekend ragers while her parents were away in Indie or Chicago. 

The Stevie she’d _love_ to watch fall apart on by her doing. 

“Well _private show_ means you get to watch _me_ , baby, and that’s just what your cute little ass is gonna get. And you _still_ didn’t tell me what you want.”

Stef thumbs at her bottom lip and smirks, nose scrunched up. Thinking. Probably wondering what she can get if she plays her cards right. 

What she says, Billie wouldn’t have ever imagined hearing with her ears in real time. She says, “Want you to make me come, yeah?” with her lashes fluttering, one hand cupping her breast and pinching the peak of her nipple between two knuckles, looking innocent as a lamb.

With a delicate hand, Stef strokes her cheek fondly, eyes all hooded and sparkling when a stripe of moonlight hits her just right. Billie preens under the caress and gives her stomach a feather-light peck before slipping down her body, satisfied, settling on her elbows between the V of Stef’s parted legs.

It’s not a completely spacious backseat but the seat itself is big enough to _kind of_ fit both of them, even if Billie has one leg crooked off the seat onto the floor and the other folded up beneath her a tad uncomfortably, all her weight pressing forward on her knee.

From here Billie can connect the dots with the moles running up the insides of Stef’s thighs. They’re pale just like the rest of her and it’s not sunny enough yet to really cook anyone yet, but Billie’s still got her California tan, permanently baked into her skin from spending her whole life under the Golden Coast sun. Her hands are a warm golden brown against cream white -- honey and milk.

She kisses up Stef’s thighs, holds them firm in her palms so she can feel the muscle flex with each nip she gifts. The skin is baby soft, shaved smooth, smells faintly floral and powdery like baby oil.  

Wet patches stain where her lips lay previous and Stef wiggles under her hold, tries to buck her hips up for a touch.

“ _Patience_ ,” Billie quips, giving her thigh a little smack. “Don’t make me come back up there.”

Stef sticks out her tongue and huffs and Billie pinches her, earning a _hey!_ and a flick to the shoulder, but she doesn’t mind it -- leans up for another cherry flavored kiss anyway.

Coming down she just smiles into the meat of her leg and sucks long and hard until a purpled, messy mark inks the skin. Her fingers trace a few stray stretch marks running like rivers across Stef’s hips, the upper part of her outer thighs. Social imperfections that she wants to lave and worship.

She then noses up against scratchy lace and warm, damp cotton, breathes in the musk slow, arousal circulating through her veins. If she could she’d reach back and press up against her cunt over her jeans, but she doesn’t have the balance to maintain that skillset. At least not in the backseat of a car. 

Billie breathes out damply against the measly scrap of fabric and Stef’s breath hitches, but she doesn’t stop, can’t now. Instead she hooks her fingers into the sides and tugs, Stef hastily lifting her hips in a silent form of permission, a wordless _yes, please_.

She drops Stef’s panties on the floor, on top of her abandoned clothes and boots, and sucks in a breath, grinning as she gets her eyes on Stef’s most private place. Stef desperately tries to cross her legs in front of her, all bashful and pink faced all of a sudden, whines a bit, but Billie holds her open so she can get a good look. It’s like she needs to lock this memory away for safekeeping in case Stef changes her mind on whim and this ends up being a one time thing.

The threat of that alone makes her heart sink, because really, nothing’s _promised_ . Stef’s a sweet talker like she is, all viper tongue and deceptive rosy lips, and maybe comes across a little more genuine, but this could be a singular act of experimentation. She could tell the whole school the next day that _Billie Hargrove is a huge fucking_ __dyk_ e _ and then she’d probably be dead, _literally_ , on sight when she got home.

It’s fucking terrifying when she really does the math here, really understands the risks she’s running opening up like this, letting herself just _be_ in the private proximity of the BMW’s leather-clad backseat, huddled up close to a girl that still has a decent amount of societal power even after she's fallen down the ladder a couple rungs.

But Stef, undeniably sensing the unease and tension there, lets her thin fingers card their way through thick golden curls and pet her scalp soothingly, and she smiles so sweetly Billie could get a cavity just from staring too long.

“C’mon,” Stef croons, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. 

Her brown eyes are soft and there’s something so fond, so warm in her gaze -- something genuine and caring, something Billie hasn’t been on the receiving end of for years. It makes her chest ache and she kisses Stef’s hip, briefly admiring all her gentle curves and soft edges, before she sets back to work.

With a careful thumb she trails down from her navel, slides through a well groomed patch of coarse, dark curls before resting on the hood of her clit. Billie rubs slowly, just a little circular motion over the warm skin to test the waters, and Stef’s breath catches, caught in her throat and held there. _Good_.

In the space between her hips, she’s bubblegum pink, flesh supple and silky under Billie’s teasing fingers and she ducks in, _finally_ , licks a fat stripe up her labia and _oh_ \--

That’s _perfect_.

Stef whimpers and Billie repeats the action, just laps over her twice, three times, moves in proper so her nose nudges her clit. The tip of her tongue flicks and gathers slick, not fully inside yet, and Stef _moans_.

Fingers tighten in Billie’s hair and Stef’s barely swallowing down her gasps and groans, is silencing them the best she can with her free hand pressed to her lips, knuckles acting as a gag. But Billie doesn’t want that -- she wants Stef’s pitchy noises to ring in her ears and get stuck in her head for days on end.

She slips her tongue in properly and sucks, works it in and out, laves over her clit now and then before suckling messily against her core. It really is heaven, trapped between a girl’s thighs for the first time in months, not to mention they’re _Stef Harrington’s_ thighs, object of her internalized affliction and deepest desires. 

And she tastes just as sweet as expected, possibly better, all saccharine and rich, and has to let a pleased sound vibrate out against slick folds.

But as intriguing, as _tempting_ as it is, keeping her on edge and just giving her a taste of what she could have, what Billie really wants to witness is how Stef can unravel, doesn’t _just_ want her to come. She wants to find what makes her squirm, makes her heartbeat thunder and her thighs quake. Wants her soaked and begging for release.

 Billie briefly pulls back, ready to rile her up, get her fucking _going_ , and a string of wet chases her lips, connects them.

 "You taste so _sweet_ baby, sweet like fuckin' cherries," she rasps as she nips Stef’s inner thigh, "god I could do this forever, just eat you out anywhere, whenever you wanted it, and you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

" _Fuck_ , Billie."

Stef hiccups as one thumb presses to the hood of her clit and the sound is fucking _sinful_ , just a little choked off gasp.

"Oh I bet you would, Stevie. I bet you'd look so goddamn _pretty_ sitting on my face, or bending over, pulling up your skirt and opening your legs just for me. No panties or anything, just like a little _slut_."

Stef whines again and Billie has to clench her own thighs. She's pulsing, is definitely sticky on her inner thighs and wet in her panties. But this isn't about her -- she promised Stef a show and dammit, she's going to get one.

She just really wants, _needs_ to make Stef come tonight, never mind her own pleasure. She wants pretty _Princess Stevie_ begging to get her tight little cunt fingered open over and over as she pulls Billie's teased curls and she sings breathy, pitchy praises of her name up to the starry heavens.

"I would," Stef gasps, her knees buckling, "fuck, I'd let you do that anywhere, god _baby_ , your fucking mouth -" 

And she really likes that, Stef calling her _baby_ . It's sugary sweet on her tongue, probably feels electric whispered against her skin. There's no jab to it, no insult to injury in the midst of the fight -- _what do you fucking say, baby_ and _god baby, you’re so fucking stupid_.

Billie spreads Stef with two fingers, pulling her apart. Even without Billie’s spit mixed in, she's a messy girl. The shine of slick glistens off her winking slit and Billie laps it up, starving, lets the musky sweetness lather her tongue. She dives back in and sucks carefully, nose now pressed into that groomed patch of hair, and with her tongue she spells out a jumbled alphabet along sensitive nerves alight with pleasure.

Stef bucks against her mouth and her noises are verbal sin. It’s all a litany of swears and choked off moans, kittenish keens and whimpers of _Billie_ and _baby_.

At this point Billie would _die_ if she were able to slip her hand down her jeans about now but she continues to keep her hands preoccupied. One hand pries Stef open while the other works back and forth, rowing across her clit at varying tempos. That’s the way she likes it herself, pressing hard and rubbing frantically and letting up again, cycling the motions through until she’s so desperate to come she’s panting hotly into her pillow.

She briefly wonders if, at all, anyone else has made her come before. If Stef even touches _herself_. Through whispers and behind cupped hands, she knows Stef had a few guys she’d openly hooked up with Pre-Nate Wheeler. Lawrence, Andrew, Benjamin, one or two more probably. Something like that. All guys known for the usual wham-bam-thank you ma’am.

But it doesn’t mean they made her _come_ , Billy thinks spitefully. 

Maybe they took Stef out to dinner or the movies, or they huddled up next to her on her sofa while her parents were out of town. Maybe they talked her up sweetly, all compliments and plastered smirks, and slipped a hand up her skirt or pressed up against her through her jeans, kissed her neck and called her _pretty_ before they were wagging their cocks in her face. Maybe they worked her open with spit-covered, fumbling fingers that knew more cockiness than actual skill, before they were slipping a rubber on and fucking her on her back, maybe face down into Italian carpeting or with her seated firmly on their laps. 

Maybe they pinched her little dusty pink nipples painfully tight and slammed inside her, called her _tight_ until they came, assuming she’d done the same and wishing her a good night with a kiss to the cheek and hoping they’d get another figurative taste of her pussy. 

The thought alone has her feeling protective, jealous. Possessiveness washes through her veins like a wave, drowns out everything else in a riptide. 

“Anyone make you come before, princess?” she asks, voice low and predatory.

One gentle finger prods over Stef’s slit carefully, teasing in contrast to her working tongue. Stef manages to nod jerkily in response and peers down the flushed expanse of her torso where Billie keeps her gaze locked upwards, awaiting an answer as her finger hesitates, not yet entering. Like an explanation, giving up a name is the key to getting inside her.

Stef’s voice is ragged and raw when she speaks and it’s the sexiest thing billie’s ever fucking heard in her entire _life._

“Nate, once,” she gasps, “took a lot of - _fuck_ \- coaching, but yeah, only once.” Billie sucks harder, envious, and Stef whimpers high in the back of her throat before continuing, “but I make _myself_ come more than anyone else has.” 

And _that’s_ a challenge if Billie’s ever heard one.

“Mm, that might not be the case when I’m through with you.”

She eases one finger in slowly, palm turned skywards, and Stef’s eyes pinch shut as she sighs. The nod that follows nearly goes unnoticed save the little jerk her body gives when she does it.

Billie corkscrews her finger, twisting it experimentally, running the tip of it over stef’s walls in short drags. She’s playing her like a violin, has her stretched taut and singing out.

She slips a second finger in and goes back to sucking Stef’s clit. Wickedly she tongues at it in little flicks, gets it in her mouth while crooking her fingers, searching. She spreads them out and Stef’s whine breaks on a swear.

She’s fever hot and tight inside but also accommodating the fingers, taking the slight stretch so well. Billie works a third in and keeps them pressed together tight as she curls and stretches, keeps her mouth full and lets Stef’s sugary slick run rivers down her chin.

“ _Billie_.”

Billie pops off her clit with a wet noise but continues petting and stroking her spot, playing the nerve bundle like her favorite song, says, “yes, baby?” in a sugary, bubblegum-sweet voice with a knife’s edge to it, something sinister hidden under the water.

And Stef nearly sobs when she presses her fingers up, hard, and works her fingertips into the sensitive area, the sound of splashing reverberating from between stef’s legs due to vigor. She barely gets out her bitten off, half swallowed, “wanna _come_.”

“I bet you do,” chides Billie, “you’re so close aren’t you? And so _wet_ , sweetheart. Did I do this to you? Get you all soaked?”

 Stef’s eyes pinch shut as she brushes over her clit delicately. Her reply is a short, pitchy, “uh huh,” and that’s good enough for Billie, really.

She brings Stef’s trembling legs over her shoulders as she sucks at her clit hungrily, tonguing and lapping over it in various speeds while her fingers spread out and angle upwards, thrust in and out hard and deep. Every sound that tumbles passed Stef’s bitten lips has more arousal flooding through her nerves, lighting them up like a match to gasoline.

Clever, conniving fingers work at a maniacal pace, bathing in wet heat. A devilish, experienced tongue laves over the sensitive bud just barely tucked away out of sight, sends desire bursting through nerve endings and settling molten heat in the pit of Stef’s stomach.

Billie feels her start tighten up and sighs against her slit, Stef’s fingers tightening pleasurably in her hair.

“‘m gonna come,” she hiccups, “Billie, I’m gonna come, _fuck_ , I’m -”

And Billie fucks her through it, moaning as she holds her mouth over her clit and lets her fingers curl in, curl _out_ in a rhythmic, fast-paced cycle. Stef’s thighs tremble and her whole upper body goes rigid, a rubber band pulled tight, as she chokes out these whiny little moans and stutters her hips against Billie’s face until it borders on _too much_ and she whimpers, trying to wriggle away from the sensations.

Billie’s just a tinge speechless as she finally removes her mouth. She’s got slick smeared over her lips like a gloss, has it running down her chin where it’s starting to get tacky. She slowly pulls her fingers out and they’re wrinkled, beads of Stef’s release spiderwebbing between them, clear and sticky. She laps the taste up from her fingers, cleans them and sucks every trace off before licking her lips, wiping her chin on the back of her hand and washing the mess off with her tongue, savoring the meal.

“Let me clean you up, baby.”

Even as Stef whimpers, sensitive and over stimulated, she’s still dripping and messy, and Billie takes it upon herself to clean up the mess she’s made. She works carefully, soothes Stef’s soft noises of protest by thumbing at her hip in gentle, feathering figure-eights, extracts all remnants of her orgasm until all she can taste on her tongue is sugary musk and plummy tang. 

Stef is still trying to catch her breath when Billie speaks again, asks, “that good?” quiet as can be, panting a bit herself. Her pupils must be drowning out the blue of her eyes, but she figures she can deal with her own, well, _problem_ a little later. Has plenty of spank bank material to reference now, if she needs to.

“Yeah, _really_ fucking good. Christ, my legs are still shaking.”

Billie grins toothily. “Good.”

Stef tugs her up for another set of kisses, sampling herself off of Billie’s tongue with interest. Both of their mouths are kiss swollen, all red and puffy from work, but it’s a damn good look, really -- she can’t wait to sit down next to Stef in class tomorrow and have people ask, dumb fucking shits, _man, did both of_ _you go on dates last night?_  and  _oh let me guess, Stef, was it David Scott, he can french like a pro_ as if the answer isn’t as obvious as the sun hangs in the sky.

Between languid kisses, Billie senses Stef’s hand wandering from the back of her neck down, over her shirt, and she knits their fingers together to prevent her from undoing the buttons.

“Not tonight, baby girl,” she says lowly, “tonight was about _you_.”

And Stef pouts a little, wraps a sandy curl around her finger and lets it spring back, all coy. “You sure? I mean I don’t really know what I’m doing, but I can still help, and like, I can improvise? I’m a good listener, you know. Wanna make you feel good too.”

 She honestly wasn’t sure Stef would even _want_ to return the favor. It’s a bit surprising, honestly.

 “Nah, ‘m good. Promise. You can have a turn another time, okay? I mean. Is that okay?”

Fear starts to coil up in her chest and grips at her lungs. She wants to cross her fingers in luck, but when Stef smirks, one side of her mouth quirking up so her cheek dimples, it’s like she’s got nothing to fear.

“Yes, fine, another time. But you gotta _promise_ you’ll let me do it for you, soon.”

 “I will, I will, Jesus. Eager to please much?”

 “I mean,” and Stef picks her bra up off the floor, then fishes her panties up from the pile of clothes discarded under the passenger seat, “that was _probably_ the best orgasm I’ve had in my life, and if I could maybe return the favor and make _you_ feel that fucking good, I’d love the opportunity.”

Billie has no problem agreeing to that. No fucking problem at all.

+

Two months pass, spring begins to fade, and now Billie’s got a few new favorite hobbies. If she had to pick though, she’s got a top three. Would mark these the top of her list with a star next to them.

The first is winking and blowing Stef a kiss when no one’s paying attention to them, usually from across a classroom or in passing in the hallway, and watching in muted glee when Stef inevitably rolls her eyes with a pursed smile and mouths for her to _stop_ with a stifled giggle.

The second is holding Stef’s hand while they shotgun off each other, talking for hours in a THC-muddled haze as they sit on the roof of the Camaro, parked on the highest peak at the quarry and tucked away from the world under a blanket of stars.

Orgasms are equally inevitable on nights like those, sure, but letting her guard down, letting the wall crumble and fall away so Stef can see what’s behind it to pick up the pieces and place them where they really belong, leaving her seamlessly whole as opposed to haphazardly held together, there’s something inexplicably terrifying and breathtaking about it. Butterflies flutter in her chest every time she spills over the edges to Stef, and in turn, maybe a little shakily and with a little less grace, does the same for her sweet Stevie in return.

And the third, probably her favorite right now - it’s still so _new_ , something they’ve just picked up lately - is laying in the sun next to Stef, both of them bare skinned and curled up in the mess of sheets on her queen size bed, alone in her big, empty house. They don’t talk all that often when they’re like that, don’t need to. Billie just groggily rolls out of bed and opens the blinds so the morning light bathes them in warmth and stripes of gold and Stef pulls her close through sleepy, hooded eyes, noses against her hairline as she taps down the notches of her spine.

She doesn’t quite know _why_ that’s her favorite hobby now, but it might have something to do with the way Stef holds her like she’s something precious and smiles at her like she’s the sun while something that Billie can only describe as pure contentment blankets everything, filling in all her nooks and crannies, her bruised and battered places, and soothes everything unsettled within her when Stef’s eyes lock on her.

Might, just _might_ , though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @ sparkleeye!

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @sparkleeye!


End file.
